Page 55 of The Way the Heart Breaks: Jade’s Story

“I’ve got some cash to spare.” He winks as he rests his arm across the back, asks as the choir begins.

“But the bills and⁠—”

“Everything’s good. Back on track.” He squeezes my shoulder. “We’re good, Jade.”

Once the song is finished, Tessa leans into me and whispers. “It’s good to see Uncle Jack back.”

The bags from the Pyramid Mall are scattered across my bed. The denim romper hangs from the closet door. The red cardigan Dad is going to insist I wear tomorrow hangs beside it.

Underneath are my cowboy boots. Aunt Josie bought them for me. Tessa said she already had some. She does, from like sixth grade, and they’re still brand new. She hated them then, and she still does. Me? I love them.

I wore my sixth-grade pair everywhere. Football games, the town fair, even church.

My eyes drift to the small department store bag tucked between the school supplies.

I can already hear Josie's voice.

Aunt Josie had said, “Don't make that face.”

The face? The one that said absolutely not.

“You’re not wearing those stretched-out middle school things; in fact, I’m gonna burn them.”

Twenty minutes later, I'd somehow walked out with a bag full of things I never would've picked out for myself.

New bras, matching underwear, some soft cotton, others satin.

Little blue flowers, hearts. They’re all different colors, red, blue, pink, off-white, and white, with tiny lace trim. Nobody will see them but me, yet still, they’re pretty.

When I'd tried to argue about spending money on them, Josie had simply shrugged. “Every girl deserves a few things that make her feel good.”

Then she'd pointed at my boots. “The same reason I bought those.”

At the time, I thought she was nuts. I mean, she is, in the best way.

But sitting here now, looking at my last first day at Blue Valley High outfit hanging on the closet door, my boots underneath it, and the bag beside me, I think maybe I understand.

The boots make me feel strong, and the stuff in the bag makes me feel grown-up.

Neither one has anything to do with boys; everything has to do with me.

This is my year; I have claimed it.

A knock sounds against the open door before Dad appears in the frame.

I like him better in jeans and a t-shirt; the old Janet Ross loved him in his church clothes…

For a second, he just stands there looking around my room. The bags, notebooks, folders, and locker decorations.

“A mirror?”

“I’ve had the same one since middle school; it’s had a crack down the middle since sophomore year.”

He points at the little magnetic picture frame. “What's that for?”

“Pictures.”

“Of what?”